Our parting is brief. I hug everyone, my parents the longest. Laurie has to go to Alkmaar too and will be accompanying me. A good idea now that I’m carrying so much money.
‘We’ll see each other again soon,’ says my father. ‘I’m bringing a load up to Alkmaar next week.’
‘See you then, Pa. You know where I’ll be.’
Another kiss, a hug, and we set off. Laurie takes the bundle with my things under his arm and we walk along the East Dyke, which leads to the quay. I look back a couple of times and wave to my family. My heart is full but I have no regrets.
It’s a long journey to Alkmaar. Squashed in between the cargo, huddled together for warmth, we watch the polder landscape of flat, neatly laid-out fields and ditches go by. The barge doesn’t go particularly fast, but I’m used to that. I’ve made this journey many times. I know every bend in the canal, every hamlet we pass. On some stretches there’s hardly any wind and we make so little progress that the bargee has to use his pole. He leans on the bargepole with his whole weight, works it into the mud at the bottom and levers the boat forward.
I sit next to my brother and point out things I notice in the landscape. I don’t get much response.
‘So you’re not coming back then?’ says Laurie, just as I’m about to give up my efforts to start a conversation.
‘Of course I will. Now and again.’
‘If I were you, I wouldn’t stay in Alkmaar. Mart is turning the whole village against you.’
‘Do they believe him?’
‘I don’t know.’ He’s quiet for a moment, then says: ‘You could go to Haarlem or Amsterdam instead.’
Now it’s my turn to pause. ‘So far away?’ I say quietly.
‘It isn’t that far really. What I mean to say, Cat, is that you mustn’t let us hold you back. If another town is … better for you, that’s where you have to go. We know what’s being said about you is nonsense, but not everyone is convinced.’
‘I should have stayed in mourning for longer, cried more.’ I look up at my brother. ‘Is it a sin to be glad someone’s dead?’
Laurie puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. ‘No,’ he says, ‘in this case I’d say it’s only human.’
We sail along the shore of Alkmaar Lake and pass the lock at Akersloot. Rays of sunlight pierce the mist, breaking up the grey haze and bringing a little warmth. A stiff breeze fills the sails and drives the boat through the waves. In the distance, the towers and city walls of Alkmaar are visible, and the gallows field.
A shudder goes through me when I see the sinister posts with their dangling corpses. I quickly turn my gaze to the hustle and bustle of the port further up by the Customs Tower, where incoming goods are weighed and taxed by the city authorities.
The broad expanse of the River Zeglis stretches out glistening in the sun ahead of us. On the banks on either side, swarms of people are walking towards the city, a man is driving a couple of pigs in front of him. Carts lurch and crash over the potholes, a beggar narrowly manages to jump out of the way of their wheels.
The barge moors up just outside the city walls. Laurie and I struggle to our feet and pay the skipper. A few minutes later, we cross the small wooden bridge leading to Tree Gate. We say goodbye at the Customs Tower. Laurie has an appointment in an inn on Brewer’s Quay.
He hesitates, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. ‘Well, Sis, good luck. I’ll come and look you up next time I’m in town.’ He hugs me. ‘Think about what I said.’
I kiss Laurie on the cheek and take my bag of clothes from him. We look each other in the eye for a moment, then smile and part ways. When I glance back, I see my brother watching me. I wave and turn right.
Stiff from sitting so long, I walk up River Street, clutching my bag. The canal is full of little barges and flat-bottomed boats, goods are being loaded and unloaded everywhere.
I make a beeline through the familiar streets to the other side of the city, where the cathedral towers over the rooftops. I enter the church through the door on Choir Street and wander through the gigantic apse with its pillars and stained-glass windows to the front, right up to the altar. I sit down on the front pew and close my eyes. For a while I sit like that, listening to my own breathing and the irregular beating of my heart.
It is only when everything inside me has quieted down that I open my eyes again. The silence hanging between the white walls and arches has a calming effect.
I clasp my hands together. The content of my prayers is no different than at the village church in De Rijp but here it feels different – as if here, among the massive stone vaults, I will be heard more clearly. I don’t know whether my entreaties make any difference. I don’t feel any relief yet. With my head still bowed, I leave the church. Outside, I blink at the sunlight and stand dazed for a moment before allowing myself to be swallowed up once more in the bustle of the city.
Near the cathedral is the inn and tavern, the Thirteen Beams, which is run by friends of mine. Bertha and her husband Emil do a roaring trade because their inn is the first one travellers come to when they enter the city from the west through Goblin Gate. It’s a large building with a stepped gable and a wrought-iron sign that swings merrily in the wind.
My hands are so cold they’re almost frozen; I open the door and let out a sigh of relief as the warm air washes over me. The small taproom is full to the rafters. I make my way through the mass of people standing and sitting between me and the bar. Emil is pouring beer. Bertha is just walking off with two foaming tankards in her hands.
‘Emil!’ I shout, leaning across the bar.
‘Cat! Hello! Lovely to see you. It’s a bit busy right now but I’ll catch up with you in a minute!’ he shouts.
I nod and whip around as someone puts their hand on my shoulder. It’s Bertha. Her dark curls have worked their way out from under her cap to frame her face. ‘There you are! Do you want something to eat?’
‘Yes, please.’
Bertha disappears into the kitchen and comes back a moment later with a hearty-looking soup and a hunk of bread. I quickly find somewhere to sit. By the time I’ve finished eating, it’s a bit quieter in the inn and Bertha comes to join me. She asks how the journey has been.
‘Long and cold, but Laurie came with me,’ I say. ‘Can I sleep here tonight? I don’t need to be at my boss’s house until tomorrow.’
Bertha’s expression turns solemn.
‘What is it? Are you full? It doesn’t matter, I’m sure I can go to the Morien’s Head,’ I say.
‘You can stay here as long as you want, but I have bad news. The gentleman who wanted you to be his housekeeper, Willebrand Nordingen, died two days ago. He fell ill – something to do with his lungs. Of course he was quite old, but his death still took us by surprise.’
For a moment I’ve no idea what to say. This is bad news. Not only for Nordingen, who seemed like a kind man, but for me too.
‘What do I do now? I’ve sold all my things, given up my lease.’
‘Then buy or rent a house here and find another job.’
‘There’s nothing else I can do. And I can’t go back to De Rijp.’
‘We’ll help you,’ says Bertha. ‘You can stay here until you get a place of your own and we’ll ask around about a job for you.